


Boys of Summer

by tasteofthebitchpudding



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Erik is a Stalker, F/M, Fluff, Non-Linear Narrative, Sexual Content, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-24 23:03:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14963913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tasteofthebitchpudding/pseuds/tasteofthebitchpudding
Summary: In which Erik is a creeper, and Christine is just trying to catch some sun.Angst, light smut, and fluff, not necessarily in that order!





	1. Chapter 1

Nobody on the road,

Nobody on the beach

I feel it in the air

The summer's out of reach

Empty lake, empty streets

The sun goes down alone

I'm driving by your house

Though I know you're not home

 

A giant banner hung over the intersection in the center of town, proclaiming in bright red letters "LAKE GUIREC LABOR DAY CELEBRATION!" and in smaller letters "COME BACK SOON!"

Erik prowled through the seemingly deserted streets of the lakeside vacation town, silently marveling over the difference 48 hours seemed to make.

Pulling briskly out of the shadows of the buildings, he cut a hasty path across Main St, leaping over the gutter where red, white, & blue streamers lie abandoned from the close-of-season parade a few mornings earlier. He took a familiar detour down the alley between an old fashioned barber shop and a souvenir shop selling Lake Guirec bric-a-brac. The bored teenager leaning behind the counter of the empty store never looked up from her cell phone to see the tall, lanky figure move past the front window.

From the alley he could cut across a parking lot, a lot that had been jammed with vehicles all summer, but now stood empty save for the ancient oldsmobile belonging to the old barber. Following the sidewalk down a steep hill, he bypassed the narrow streets that branched off from the base of the hill.

Much like the parking lot, the rows of houses had shown vibrant signs of life until the last day or so. The balcony railings on every home had been draped in colorful beach towels, bicycles had littered the yards, and the non-stop cacophony of children on vacation had reverberated through the narrow streets. While he hadn't relished the crowds or the noise, the large groups of people had made it fairly easy to move around practically unseen.

He felt oddly exposed in these newly-empty streets, and made more of an effort to lighten his step to prevent the echo of his heels on the pavement.

The sky was a dusty violet as dusk settled around the lake, and he continued his trek downward, as the sidewalk abruptly ended into a loose dirt path. He stepped over the low gate with its PRIVATE BEACH sign, as he had countless time already, and moved into the shadow of pines that had been densely planted in several straight lines.

The trees separated the larger lake-front homes with their private expanses of sand from their less luxurious neighbors in the streets above. Erik had initially sneered at the audacity of the people who had sought to make the lake their private, upper-class domain, but found that the trees had provided a useful cover for his daily vigils.

When he reached his destination-the sixth massive house from the corner, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Darkness was all that greeted him from the countless windows of the three-story edifice.

She was already gone then. Gone. Away from the lake, and away from him. Again.

He moved back a few rows of trees, coming to one with a large, thick base he had discovered was very easy to climb. From a higher vantage point, he was able to see the pool, water shimmering in the growing twilight.

Only a few days earlier, he had spied her here, laying on a pool floatie in a blinding white bikini. Her skin had browned from the weeks in the sun, and the contrast of her newly tanned skin against the white of her revealing swimsuit had left Erik reeling, dizzy from a sudden loss of blood from his head.

Her mountain of blonde curls had been pulled up in a topknot, and looked platinum in the bright sunlight. She had been laughing with her little friend from the dance department as they drifted around the pool, the sun high overhead. Erik had watched her, panting, until both girls had gone into the house. His back had been slick with sweat and his head heavy with desire and despair as he left his hidden spot that afternoon.

He was able to confirm now, from his high perch in the branches, that the house was deserted. Shimmying down the tree, he made his way to the second spot he had made use of in the past two weeks. Two lots down from the Chagny's beach house sat the lakefront property of a wealthy family that had hit on hard times.

During his first few hours in town Erik had focused on doing a bit of reconnaissance work, and had discovered he could sit in a private booth at the back of a tiny diner off Main Street and eavesdrop on the conversations of the townies and tourists.

He didn't care how ridiculous he looked in his over-sized sunglasses and floppy hat--they had done an adequate job obscuring most of his face, and he had been able to shovel down a plate of eggs and listen as the waitress and the woman who ran the mini-golf place gossiped about how the Poligny house was in foreclosure, and what shame it was that the house was sitting empty for the summer.

Discovering that the house, with its laughably easy to scale decks, was relatively close to where Christine was vacationing with her childhood friends had been another stroke of great fortune. A cluster of large potted plants to obscure his presence on the deck and one pair of binoculars later, and Erik was able to watch Christine jump, squealing, from a tethered pontoon into the freezing lake water.

The swimsuit that day had been a strapless kelly green one piece. The knot at the front had created a sweetheart neckline that framed her golden cleavage and made Erik's mouth go dry. He had watched his angel laughing, bobbing in the lake water, cheering on her companions. The lake had glittered with the bright afternoon sun, but nothing had been as blindingly beautiful as her smile, and he had felt his own gruesome mouth stretch into a rictus grin as he watched her.

When he followed her gaze back up to the pontoon to see who she was calling for, the smile had died on his face. The young man was a bronzed god; his compact, muscular build glistened with lake water, his golden hair gleaming.

Erik mentally compared his own elongated frame-towering height with a lanky build, he was all sharp angles and jutting knees and elbows; lank dark hair and pasty white complexion-with this sun god, and determined that, even taking his ruined face out of the equation, he certainly came up lacking.

The bronzed interloper dove into the water, splashing his angel as she squealed. When the young man had re-emerged under Christine, forcing her up onto his shoulders, Erik had hunched over in pain. Christine had been screaming out half-hearted protestations as another man in the water took up the same position with Christine's friend Meg, the little dark haired dancer.

Erik watched in agony as his angel had reached out to catch the beach ball being thrown to her, her soft thighs --his thighs!-- wrapped around the neck of the blonde Adonis.

Once upon a time ago, those same thighs had been regularly wrapped around his head, as she writhed in pleasure above him while he worked her molten core with his tongue, and comparing the memory of what he had once had with the scene in front of him churned his stomach.

He couldn't bear another minute of watching this man's hands wrapped around his angel's calves, silky smooth calves that had pressed against his own bony backside as he moved above her, making her cling to him...hauling unsteadily to his feet, he had descended from the deck, heedless of discovery, and lost his breakfast in the bushes on the side of the house.

He'd staggered around the building, back to the treeline, and vowed he wouldn't return. He'd drive back to campus that same night, back to the empty apartment, and would cease this particular form of self-torture.

Surveying the dark water now, his lip curled in distaste at the boat on its lift, remembering the scene he had witnessed there. Of course he had come back, had come back every day, unable to stay away from where he knew she was.

He had watched her countless times from the deck of the vacant house; had mentally catalogued every swimsuit she had packed, had watched her swimming in the lake, laying out on the narrow stretch of sand with Meg, having cookouts on the deck with her "childhood friends."

The two young men were identical in their cocky smiles and strutting arrogance, although the older one seemed a bit harder around the mouth, more reserved than his obnoxious popinjay of a younger brother.

It was the younger one, Raoul, who was the main object of Erik's irrational hatred. He had the self-assuredness and easy confidence of someone with their entire charmed existence stretched out before them. He was handsome and boisterous and absolutely everything that Erik was not.

He was also entirely too familiar with Christine. Erik had heard him squawking "C'mon Chrissy!" more times than he had cared to, watched him pull her into bear hugs and casually place a hand on her hip as though he had the right, like he belonged there at her side.

Once Erik had spied him pull Christine into a half hug and keep her pressed there, a large hand spread over her hip as he animatedly told a laughing Meg a story. Erik had desperately wanted to remove the offending arm from Christine's body, preferably by way of ripping it out of its owner's socket and throwing it in the lake, or possibly shoving it directly up the young man's perfectly toned and not at all bony ass.

Alone in his motel room that night, Erik had googled exactly what kind of crime dismemberment was, and how long of a sentence he'd be looking at. He suspected that he'd do quite well on the inside, as a brief stint in juvie had had shown him that weaker boys were quick to do his bidding, and the ones who were bold enough to challenge him were quick to learn that he was deceptively strong and fast for a corpse.

The only thing that stopped him from enacting his fantasy on Raoul was the thought of Christine being upset by the inevitable blood.

She'd probably be less likely to take him back if he maimed her childhood playmate, and so Erik had remained on the deck, clenching his hands and trying not to burst a blood vessel in his eye.

There were other times when he watched her and she'd been alone. Sitting by the pool in the early evenings, writing in her journal, chewing her pen adorably. She'd eventually pull herself up to the repeated squawk of "C'mon Chrissy!" and leave his line of sight, going back into the house.

Other times he'd watch her sitting in the sand alone at sundown, her knees drawn up to her chin and her arms wrapped around her legs as she stared out across the water. Those nights he had wanted to climb down and go to her, to pull her against him and kiss the pensive look off her lovely face. But he knew his kiss would not be welcome, that he was the last person she'd want to see.

And now she was gone, having slipped out of his life again.

Erik swiftly climbed down from the abandoned deck and returned to the dark cover the trees provided. He contemplated the usefulness of the house as he moved, wondering if it might be a good investment for future summers. Surely she'd return again to stay with the Popinjay and his brother, and although she'd be out of his life, Erik could still watch her and pretend. By the time he cleared the artificial forest and made his way back up the hill towards town, night had fully enveloped the lake.

He moved down the dark and empty streets, neatly avoiding the light spilling out of the open doorway of a dive bar, jukebox music and bawdy laughter spilling out. It was the only sign of life in the otherwise quiet section of town, and for the briefest of moments he hesitated.

A stiff drink would be much appreciated, and he occasionally frequented these types of establishments back home after all...but that was when he had a blonde angel on his arm, when the stares a masked man inevitably attracted seemed less important because she was there with him.

Instead, he hurriedly moved on, keeping to the shadows the buildings provided. His pace slowed as he passed a little cafe where he had watched her one morning. His Christine was a creature of habit, and was a consistently early riser. He had noticed right away that she tended to rise before her companions and would walk from the beach up to town to browse the little shops before the sun was too high in the sky.

Anticipating her routine after only a day or two, Erik made sure to station himself at one of the diner's sidewalk tables every morning, concealed under his floppy hat and sunglasses, with a newspaper spread out in front of him as she passed, oblivious to his presence.

Fortune smiled at him at the end of the first week, when Christine had taken a seat under an awning outside the little cafe, only a few yards from where he hid behind his paper.

She normally bounced along the sidewalk with a bright smile for anyone who passed, but he had noticed as soon as she came into view at the top of the hill that her walk seemed a bit slower, her smile a bit wane. After a server had taken her order, she pulled a piece of paper from the journal she had carried and pen she had stuffed in the pocket of her sundress. Erik watched as she stared pensively at the paper, nervously chewing on the pen cap, before she bent and began to write.

He smiled indulgently when a glass of pink lemonade accompanied the fruit plate that was delivered to her table. She paused to thank the server, and continued to write as she picked at a strawberry. Eventually, she pushed away the plate of food and brushed furiously at her eyes, using her paper napkin to wipe at them.

His heart clenched when he realized she was crying, and it took every ounce of self control he possessed to not dash to her side and cradle her in his arms.

She had seen her cry before, of course. Erik had gotten into the habit of checking the "DoesTheDogDie" website before they went to any movie, and always made sure to be armed with tissues if the website answered in the affirmative. Once, she had cried while telling him a story about her father, gone only two years at that point.

He had quickly tried to tell her she didn't have to continue if it was too painful, but she had pushed on, explaining that she wanted to share things about her dad with Erik, that she had loved her dad and loved him, and knew her father would have loved him as well. He had gently stroked her hair and rubbed her back soothingly as she continued her story, cuddled against him on the sofa and her tears had mirrored the rain that beat a steady tattoo on the apartment window.

Her tears that morning seemed different, frustrated. She pushed the paper aside and pulled her plate back, viciously stabbing a slice of cantaloupe. She continued to take her apparent anger out on her fruit for a few minutes longer, before she took a steadying breath. She quickly folded the paper in thirds, and produced a stamped envelope from her pocket.

Leaving cash on the table for her breakfast, she left the cafe and moved to a mailbox on the corner. Erik watched as she stuffed the paper into the envelope, and hesitating in front of the box, pressed a cotton candy lipglossed kiss to the front of it, before dropping into the letter slot.

Now, as he hesitated outside the dark cafe in the twilight, he realized he'd probably never know what had made so upset that morning. By the time he had taken his place on the deck that afternoon, she was all smiles again, her melancholy passed. He would never know who had made her cry, never again be the one to comfort her and stroke her hair.

Choking back his agony, he swiftly made his way back to his car, parked on the far edge of an outlet mall parking lot. As he navigated his way back to the dingy, out of the way motel where he'd been staying, he suddenly felt overwhelmed by fatigue.

He didn't want to make the drive home tonight, not with visions of her plaguing his mind. Arriving back at the small room, he threw himself onto the bed, still fully clothed, and tried to allow uneasy sleep to claim him.

Christine had been the best thing that had ever happened to him, nay, the only good thing to happen in his entire, miserable existence. To call her 'the best' implied there was something else good to compare her to, and she was it. She was his everything, and without her he had nothing.

He couldn't fathom how he was going to live without her sweet smelling hair tickling his bare face in the morning as she slept, pressed to his side. Without her lingerie draped over the shower rod, mortifying him every time he'd go into the bathroom to relieve himself only to be caught face-to-face with a scrap of lavender lace dangling inches away from his head.

Without her crystal voice, soaring over notes that he wrote for her, only for her.

Tomorrow he would leave this place, this dreamy state of suspended reality, with her right there yet still so far from him. He'd go home, not that anywhere could ever be considered home again, not without her there.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback time!

I never will forget those nights I wonder if it was a dream  
Remember how you made me crazy  
Remember how I made you scream  
I don’t understand what happened to our love  
But baby I’m gonna get you back  
Gonna show you what I’m made of

The next morning, Erik inexplicably found himself driving back to the lake. He wasn’t able to say why, there was nothing here for him now that she was gone.  
There was never anything here for you at all, a voice in his head hisses.  
Erik supposed he wanted to walk where she had walked one last time, knowing that he’d never have a real reason to come back to this place. He wanted to look out over the water and pretend that it had been him she had taken twilight swims with, that they had strolled together to the old fashioned ice cream stand in the evening, sharing licks off the same dripping cone. That she had shared memories of her childhood here with him as they snuggled under a blanket on the beach, looking up at the stars.  
He’d never done any of those things with her, and now he’d never have the chance, and he cursed his vivid imagination for supplying his with the details of this fantasy vacation. Later today, he’d return to campus--to the empty apartment, and an even emptier life--without her. But for at least this morning, Erik wanted to pretend. 

* * * *

How he’d ever wound up with a woman like Christine was still a mystery to him.  
She had been in her third year of undergrad in the school of music when she’d knocked on his door one fateful afternoon mid-semester. He was working on his second master’s degree at the time, adding theory and composition to the degree he had already earned as a pianist.  
Adjuncting was part and parcel of his degree program, and he was forced to teach introduction to keyboard and music appreciation to non-majors three times a week, earning him a tiny closet of an office despite the fact that his classroom reviews often called out his sarcasm and arrogance.  
His good standing with the dean of the school of music helped to smooth most of the feathers he ruffled with his abrupt nature, and his colleagues grudgingly acknowledged his innate talent. He was profoundly uncomfortable in the classroom though, and each semester he’d spend the days leading up to the first morning of classes huddled in his bed, guts clenched with anxiety, struggling to breathe through panic attacks.  
Khan insisted it was good for him, though, that he wanted his “favorite fundie” to be better-adjusted, to become more comfortable in public, to make a friend. Erik far prefered to escape to his tiny office and hide himself away between classes, and so far, Khan hadn’t cottoned on that he wasn’t trying very hard to “make a friend.”  
He had just settled himself with a hot cup of tea at the upright piano he had wedged in the broom closet office, when the timid knock at the door had pulled him out of his plans for a quiet hour between classes. He distinctly remembered snarling that office hours were over as he wrenched the door open, only to fall silent at the sight of the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on standing on the other side. Christine had still had her hand up, poised to knock again on the door, her mouth opened in a tiny “o” of surprise at his abrupt greeting.  
“M-Mister DeBecque? Erik DeBecque?” she stammered out, her wide blue eyes holding a hint of what seemed to be desperation. Desperation, and surprise, because who expects to have a masked stranger snarling at them in the first place?  
Erik had found himself lost in a sea of crystal clear Bahamian waters, in endless mid-summer skies, in idyllic fields of cornflowers, the most perfect crystalline blue he could ever have imagined...when he realized she’d still been trying to confirm his name.  
“YES! Ahem, yes. I’m Erik DeBecque,” he choked out, a bit more forcefully than he’d intended. Hell, he hadn’t intended on talking to anyone he didn’t have to that day, let alone to this blonde goddess providence had delivered quite literally to his doorstep.  
“Oh thank goodness!” she exclaimed, visibly relieved. “My name is Christine Daaé, I work in the music office and I was given your name by Dean Khan. He said you might be able to help me with an emergency situation I’ve found myself in?”  
Erik briefly wondered if he ought to wait for Khan in the faculty parking lot to beat the man to pulp, or send him a nice bottle of wine in gratitude for sending this beautiful angel his way. “Make a friend” he’d told Erik. Make a friend, indeed! Considering he’d never had a relationship with any woman at nearly 30 years of age, he supposed it was too optimistic to assume one as beautiful as this Ms Daaé would ever deign to speak to him if she didn’t need something, but he was willing to take what scraps he could get. Perhaps he’d let Khan live to see another day after all...  
Christine went on to explain that she was a vocal major whose accompanist had inconveniently broken a wrist in an auto accident the previous weekend.

“I have several auditions coming up over the summer, and I need to start preparing for my recital...Dean Khan mentioned you’re a pianist and might be able to help me…” she trailed off, wringing her hands together nervously.  
Erik had never seen anything more adorable in all his life.  
He did not work as an accompanist. He was trained as a concert pianist--a solo artist, and his temperament did not lend itself to working nicely with others. He wasn’t sure what had gone through Khan’s head when he’d given Erik’s name to this lovely young woman, and he still wasn’t sure if wanted to kill or kiss his occasional mentor. 

Erik dimly heard a voice respond “Yes, I should have the time in my schedule to help you with that,” and he jerked in surprise when he realized it had been his own voice. 

What?! What was he thinking? He couldn’t work with this lovely young woman. For starters, he absolutely did not have the time, he was far too busy working on his own degree in between teaching; he had his own compositions to work on, he was exploring his PhD options for the following year, aside from the fact that he wasn’t a damned accompanist in the first place! 

She’s far too beautiful to be trapped in a room with the likes of you, he told himself.

“Come in, I have some time before my next class if you want to go over specifics.”  
Where was that voice coming from?! Erik was at a loss to explain how his vocal chords were producing these sounds without his his brain’s conscious consent, and now here he was ushering the smiling young woman into his broom closet! 

Christine seemed thrilled at his apparent acquiescence to her request, and Erik hastily cleared the stacks of sheet music off the only small chair in the tiny room. He flicked on his electric tea kettle and a few moments later, moments he spent trying to steady his racing heart and remembering how to breath, handed her a steaming mug before calmly resuming his seat at the piano. 

“Now Ms Daaé, what is it you’ll need from me, exactly?” the confident voice that certainly was not his intoned. 

Christine straightened up in her chair and began to outline what her schedule looked like and when she hoped they’d be able to meet. Erik couldn’t help but notice that she seemed largely unperturbed being in such a confined space with him. After her first initial look of shock, she’d barely give the mask a second glance! Khan. Khan must have said something to the girl, warning her about Erik’s unorthodox appearance.That was the only explanation, otherwise she’d be gawking at him the way his students so often did when they thought he wouldn’t notice.

As she talked, his mind supplied what he was hoping she’d need from him. True love, oodles of sex, marriage, babies, and a lifetime together was what he wished she’d say, but instead they’d agreed to meet after his last class three days a week, and on Saturday mornings. She seemed concerned about taking his time on the weekends, but he waved away her concerns, not mentioning that meeting with her would be the only thing on his Saturday calendar in recent memory.

“What about you? I don’t want to keep you away from plans on weekends...don’t you have a job or a boyfriend you need to keep Saturdays free for?” he asked, as nonchalantly as he could. 

Her laughter was like the tinkling of a dozen silver bells, and Erik’s stomach clenched at the musical sound. Oh, that voice! Christine laughingly confirmed the only man in her life was a cat named Leonard, and her job in the music office was strictly Mon-Fri.  
Erik tried not to feel the relief that surged through him; it didn’t matter if there had been a boyfriend, it wouldn't make a bit of difference where he was concerned. Beauty doesn’t actually want the Beast, you great idiot, the treacherous voice in his head reminded unhelpfully. 

Still, that knowledge didn’t keep his breath from catching as she gripped his hand unexpectedly, turning at his door. His long, cold digits seemed to burst to life in her small, warm hands, and he felt heat race up his neck. He was glad in that moment for the concealment of the mask, because he knew his face had flushed red; he only hoped she didn’t notice the color he felt up to tips of his ears.

“You’re saving my life Mister DeBecque, I don’t know how to thank you for doing this,” she said, releasing his hand, twin spots of color coming to her lovely porcelain cheeks, when she noticed his flushed neck and suddenly ragged breathing.

Erik took a step back and sucked in a breath as though he had been momentarily deprived of oxygen. He couldn’t help but notice that his office now faintly smelled of her light lilac perfume. He sputtered away her thanks and her formal address. “Please, if we’re going to be working together, it’s just Erik,” he insisted as she opened the door. The outside world seemed overlit and too loud, and he wanted nothing more than to pull her back into his broom closet, into his arms, and keep her there forever.

“Well then, thank you for the tea, Erik,” she smiled shyly up at him as she stepped out the door. The spots of color had spread down her neck as well, and Erik could only nod dumbly as she confirmed that she’d see him for their first session together in two days. She gave him another sweet smile, still blushing prettily, before ducking her head and hurrying away.

It was two weeks after he had begun working as her accompanist, eight blissful hours where he had fallen deeply, irrevocably in love--for his Christine was not just beautiful, but from what he could tell, exceedingly kind--when she casually asked if he wanted to go to a recital with her after their Saturday morning session. “I need so many recital credits a semester, and I’ve already fallen so behind,” she lamented to him, having shyly slid the slip of paper announcing the senior recital for a clarinetist that afternoon across the piano. 

“But it’s okay if you’re busy, y-you probably already have plans for the weekend and I’ve taken enough of your time,” she awkwardly stammered out when he didn’t respond to her initial invitation. 

Of course he was familiar with the recital credit program, having suffered through it himself for four years during his own undergrad. He had never once had anyone to attend a recital with, would always slip in just as the lights were going out and taking a seat in the back, closest to the door so he would be able to make his escape before the house lights came up. Even if he wasn’t “the guy in the mask,” his acerbic tongue and general aloofness didn’t engender too many friendly feelings from his peers. He didn’t want his classmates to see him, he couldn’t bear their stares, and certainly didn’t want their pity at being alone, always alone. 

He didn’t sense pity from Christine’s invitation; as a point of fact, she had been lingering longer and longer in his broom closet after their rehearsals. First it was to discuss the pieces she was working on, then slowly the conversation had expanded to her current classes, the soloist role she was auditioning for, her tentative plans for after graduation. He listened to her every word with rapt attention, always making them a post-rehearsal cup tea to slightly extend the time she spent sequestered with him in his office. Erik had learned she was two years older than most of her classmates, having left school for a time when her father had died, a year and a half earlier. He had begrudgingly admitted to being a bit older than most of his grad school peers as well, having taken some time off between his undergraduate graduation and starting grad school to travel through Europe.

“Really?! That sounds amazing, I’d love to be able to do something like that!” she had exclaimed in wonder. She grinned up him coquettishly and asked “How old are you then? It’s a bit hard to tell with the ma-...” she abruptly cut off, and slapped her hand to her mouth. “I-I’m sorry, Erik. I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine Christine,” he interrupted drily, tapping his masked cheek. “I know it’s there. I’ll be 28 this summer,” he answered, hastily turning back to the piano, feeling a hundred years old in the face of her sunny youth. 

“Is that all then? Five years, that’s nothing!” was her cheerful reply, and Erik didn’t know what to make of her pointing out the disparity in their ages.

Although he didn’t volunteer much information about himself, Christine consistently tried to peel back another layer every time she stayed to talk with him. To his great surprise, she never questioned the mask, and to his even greater confusion, she didn’t seem bothered by it. She asked questions about his current degree program, and he admitted that he was writing an opera, which she found endlessly fascinating, and begged him for details. He gave her the rough outline for what he was planning, but what he didn’t tell her was that he hadn’t started working on the opera in earnest until he had met her, and was in fact, now writing it for her specifically. 

The idea for an opera was something he had been kicking around for some time, but had not truly sparked until he started working with Christine. The symphony he had been working on for months was summarily abandoned in a fit of inspiration to write something for her. Khan had expressed dismay that he was completely changing course on his graduate composition, but Erik could not be swayed. He wanted to write her something beautiful, something that showed off her range and flexibility, her clarity of tone. Her voice was the purest instrument he’d ever heard, and if he didn’t already love her for her warmth and kindness, her voice might have been enough.

“NO! I don’t have plans. I’d love to go,” Erik finally blurted out, startling Christine out her stammering, as he pulled the flyer back across the piano where she had been slowly drawing it away from his non-response.

“Oh! Okay, great! If you’re sure,” she breathed in relief, the smile returning to her lovely face. “Are you sure though? I don’t want to eat up your whole Saturday...don’t you have a job or a girlfriend you need to keep Saturdays free for?” she asked with an impish smile, repeating the question he had asked her that first day. 

“No and no,” he answered succinctly, rising from the piano and crossing the room in one stride. He pulled the door open and sucked in a lungful of air from the hallway, suddenly feeling too warm.  
The only thing on his Saturday agenda, after his rehearsal with Christine, was to go home to his empty apartment and work on his opera for hours. Dinner would be a hastily consumed bowl of cereal over the sink, if he remembered to eat at all. His nights were spent waking breathless and sweaty every few hours, tangled in his sheets after yet another erotic dream about a certain blonde soprano. He could barely wrap his head around Christine being willing--asking to!--spend time with him, but her actually thinking he might have had a girlfriend was too much. He briefly wondered if she was brain addled, and if so, how he’d missed the signs. 

He’d nearly jumped out of his skin then at the soft touch of her hand on his back. She gave a little laugh at his reaction as he whirled around, suddenly finding her very, very close. 

“The recital starts in 40 minutes...do you want to grab a coffee or a snack across the street beforehand?” she asked smiling up at him.

And that was how it started, all innocently enough. He accompanied her on the piano as she rehearsed her audition repertoire, and then accompanied her to the Saturday afternoon recitals, in one of the several campus recital halls. The first Saturday that there hadn’t been a recital on the school’s calendar, he worked up the nerve to ask her to lunch, to which she had accepted with a dazzling smile, to his everlasting shock. She’d said yes again when he asked her to dinner, and when he walked her back to the on-campus apartment quad she shared with three other girls, she had hopped up the steps to be equal with his gangling height, and leaned in to kiss him on his masked cheek. 

“This was fun, Erik. We should do it again soon,” She breathed into the space they shared, her face mere inches from his. How he had wanted to lean in and claim her soft, pink mouth with his own! He had practically hyperventilated the entire way home, and his plan of working through the night on his opera was interrupted by the throbbing agony her brief kiss had ignited in his groin. 

The semester had ended all too quickly, and Erik wanted to do something special for Christine to celebrate. They had gone to dinner several more times, and Christine had kissed him each time; cheek had moved to lips, chaste had moved to lingering. The first time he felt her soft tongue gently swiping at his lower lip, he hadn’t been able to swallow down the moan that rose unbidden from his throat. He had crushed her against him, and they stood on her stoop, devouring each other, for far longer than was decent. 

They only broke away that night when a high-pitched voice squealed out “OMG, is that him?!” from a window somewhere above their heads. 

To celebrate the end of the semester, Erik had bought tickets for the symphony in the city and made reservations at a nice restaurant. Christine had been thrilled, and had flung her arms around him when he had presented her with the tickets. 

It had been the kind of night Erik had never dreamed of experiencing. Christine had been breathtaking in a midnight blue chiffon dress that grazed the floor and showed off the creamy expanse of her neck and shoulders. Her tumble of blonde curls was pinned up and Erik had to physically restrain himself from curling the loose wisps that pulled free around his fingers.

Erik ensured he took an Ativan before leaving the house, but he was still tight with nerves at being so exposed. He didn’t miss the cool look Christine leveled at the Maitre d’ when he gaped at Erik, nor the frosty way she’d thanked their stammering server. Once they’d arrived at the concert hall, his nerves lessened. He had played on this stage before, was well known here. The house manager greeted him by name, and Christine had beamed, slipping her arm through his.  
He hadn’t wanted the night to end, and too quickly found himself pulling up outside her building to say goodnight. The familiar chorus of squeals and laughter erupted from the upstairs window as Erik steeled himself to hesitantly lean in and offer a light kiss.

“Oh my GOD!” Christine had groaned out, burying her face in his shirt. “I swear I’m going to kill them. I’m so sorry!”

“It-it’s fine,” he’d stammered, chagined that the first time he had attempted initiating anything had been interrupted. 

“It’s NOT fine!” she had laughed. “You know what? I’m not ready to say goodnight yet...let’s go back to your place?”

And that was how he had inexplicably found himself, hours later, nestled between Christine’s creamy thighs, thrusting with reckless abandon, as she clung to his back and moaned beneath him. All the dreams he’d had about that moment paled in comparison to the actual feel of her silky skin as she wrapped her legs around his narrow hips, pulling him deeper into her clenching heat until the entire world fell away and nothing existed but her cries and pleasure that wiped his vision as it consumed him. Any self doubt or self consciousness he had felt over the mask was washed away in a tidal wave of lust as they sought pleasure in each other several times throughout the night, leaving him feeling spent and sated and pleasantly exhausted for the first time in his life.

Unfortunately, the doubt had all come rushing back the next morning when he woke. He was aroused, there was a naked Christine pressed to his side, and it was all he could do to not choke on the panic that had suddenly seized him. When she’d stirred a short time later, mumbling a sleepy “Mmmm, good morning,” into his shoulder, he had been practically paralyzed with worry. His erection flagged, his skin felt suddenly clammy, and he couldn’t help the panicked rush of self-loathing that broke from his lips.

“Chris-Christine...I-I’m so...I’m not...You deserve--” The arm that was not wrapped around her gestured wildly, and his fingertips alighted on the mask. He was saved from his stuttering when she placed a finger over his lips, and pulled herself up on an elbow.

“Hey, you don’t have to do that. It doesn’t matter, Erik. It doesn’t matter to me, you have to know that,” she murmured, replacing the finger at his lips with her own, in a soft whisper of a kiss.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he rasped unevenly. 

She let out a sigh, dropping her head down on his shoulder as her hand smoothed through his hair. “I’m not stupid, Erik. I know you wear that mask for a reason. I can’t imagine what that’s been like for you, because I know how shitty people can be. But it doesn’t matter to me. And you need to know that.”

“You don’t know that Christine. And once you’ve seen, you won’t feel the same way.” 

“Well, then you’re just going to have to trust me,” she said firmly, lowering her hand to cup his masked cheek. “Just like I’m going to trust you to show me--when you’re ready.”

She sat up suddenly and straddled his body, holding herself with a hand on either side of his head. “Until then, we have much more pressing issues to address,” she purred, rolling her hips against his. 

He dropped his head back with a groan, his half-hard member surging back to attention. She lowered her mouth to his and he cupped the full globes of her breasts as their tongues lashed against each other. She broke from his mouth and dragged her nails down his chest, pinching at his nipples, making him shiver. She rolled her hips again, and then disappeared under the blanket. Her dainty hand closed around his lengthening cock, and he hastily pulled the blankets back just in time to watch her close her mouth around his tip. Her eyes locked with his, narrowed with a mischievous glint, and she hummed. The vibration on his sensitive head coupled with her hot, sucking mouth sent lightning bolts of pleasure up his spine, and all conversations about his mask and the horrors it hid were forgotten as his body seized with pleasure.

He wouldn’t show her for almost three months. Christine had become a constant presence at his side over that first summer, and he couldn’t bear to ruin their blissful existence. She had nailed her auditions, as Erik had known she would, and every Sunday morning she slipped out of his bed--his bed!--to go to her church gig. He’d have pancakes and bacon waiting for her upon her return, and after feasting on her favorite breakfast foods, she’d insist on returning to bed. On more than one occasion they had not made it back to the bedroom, and his kitchen table had developed a permanent squeak from weakened legs, not designed for hosting amorous activities. 

He had given her some sheet music to start working on in early June, not telling her it was the act II aria from his opera. She had all but moved into his apartment by then, filling his empty life with makeup and hair pins strewn across his bathroom, technicolor flip flops in a pile at his front door, and a spoon constantly left in the peanut butter. She sang in the shower, wrapped her arms around his waist as he cooked them dinner, and drained him dry with a near insatiable sexual appetite for each other. Learning to play her body like a musical instrument had become his favorite area of study, and he relished his new found ability to make her mewl and squirm in pleasure.

He came home one late afternoon in July to find her disheveled in his kitchen, flour on her face and spaghetti sauce on the ceiling.  
“You weren’t supposed to be home for hours!” she exclaimed peevishly, trying to push him out the door. “Go away, Erik! You can’t come in yet!”

He dutifully trooped back to the music building, and took advantage of the time to work on his score. When he let himself back into the apartment in the early evening, he was startled by the soft candlelight that wavered around the darkened room. On the kitchen island sat a two-tiered cake, frosted in white with a ring of birthday candles. His breath caught, and he struggled to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat. 

“Happy Birthday, Erik” came her breathy voice from behind him. He turned slowly, fighting against the tears that were threatening to form. 

Christine stood framed in the bedroom door in a pale blue dress, clutching a gift wrapped parcel, her eyes as soft as her smile. She had kissed away his tears, kissed away his admission that no one had acknowledged his birthday since his childhood. She had sat in his lap and fed him bites of cake in between soft kisses, made him open a small pile of presents she had been hiding at her campus apartment, and whispered how happy she was that he had opened his office door to her, months before.  
She asked him what else he wanted to make his birthday perfect, and he knew exactly what to ask for.

“Sing for me,” he whispered against her lips, and she squealed in delight,struggling to her feet.

They moved to the piano, and Erik began the intro to the aria he had written. It was the first time they had played it through together, and Erik couldn’t help the way his heart seemed to beat in triple time. Christine immediately slipped into stance and when her voice rang out, singing the music he had written for her, the lump in his throat made its reappearance. 

Il mio cuore batte  
per te solo,  
il mio cuore batte  
per te, per te

Christine’s crystal voice soared over the notes, as the beautiful maiden Egle swore her devotion to her monstrous husband, the Serpent King. When the aria finished, Erik struggled for composure. It felt like a line had been crossed, and they were both breathing heavily.

“Erik...where did this music come from?” Christine turned to him, her face suddenly wet with tears. And he knew that she knew.  
“You-you wrote this...Erik, did you write this for me?” 

He hadn’t been able to answer her, too choked up at the way she had sung his aria, at the trouble she had gone through to make his birthday something special, how she had profoundly changed his formerly empty life with her presence. She had rushed around the piano and flung herself into his arms. Then he was crying, and she was crying, and she was kissing him. 

“It’s so beautiful, Erik, thank you, thank you…” she murmured through her tears, peppering his mouth in tiny kisses.”It’s perfect, and I love it. I love you.”

Time had stopped as her words had sunk in. “Christine,” he had moaned out, burying his masked face in her neck.

“I love you Erik, I love you,” she whispered into his hair.

And he realized it was time. More than anything in that moment, he wanted to be able to press his bare face to her, to be loved for himself, to give Christine everything. If this sweet angel was brave enough to love him, he needed to be brave enough to show her the truth, to give her the choice. He took a ragged breath, and pulled his head up. Christine met his eye and grew very still as he reached up to remove the mask.

He had not been brave enough to watch her reaction. Before the mask had left his face, he had closed his eyes and steeled himself for her inevitable gasp and scream. She would not love him once she saw what he hid, and he couldn’t bear to see the warmth leave her eyes, only to be replaced with horror and fear. Once she saw the monster she had let into her life and her bed, she would leave, he was certain she would leave. But he couldn’t deny her the choice, not when she had spoken such sweet words, had given him the happiest six months of his miserable existence.

The time had seemed to stretch, and still she didn’t make a sound. His adam’s apple bobbed violently and he struggled to keep his breath even, when he had suddenly felt the soft pressure of her mouth against his. Her fingers curled into his hair, and her lips drifted across his ruined, sunken cheeks.

“Oh, Erik” she had whispered into his temple, her hands coming to cup his face. He opened his eyes then, to find her lovely blue ones fixed on his, unshed tears there, yes...but no horror, no fear. “I love you, Erik” she had said firmly, her thumbs brushing over the bridge where his nose should have been. “I love you.”

“My Angel of Music” he whispered, and she had leaned in to kiss him again.

 

* * * * *

He could get her back. He was certain. 

He made this determination as he sped along the highway away from the lake, back to civilization and campus and reality. His acknowledged that his sudden optimism was likely a byproduct of the 24hr Energy drink he had downed when he stopped for gas on his way out of Lake Guirec, and possibly the snickers bar he had chased it with, but the manic euphoria he was feeling was a welcome break from the utter misery that had consumed him for the past 12 days.

They had been together for nearly two years at that point. They loved each other. She knew more about him than probably anyone else on earth, other than Khan, had kissed his naked face, shared music with him, made love with him, had given his wretched life meaning, and he was not willing to give her up, dammit. He could make her see that the blonde adonis would never worship her the way he did. 

That boy could have any woman he wanted, would never appreciate Christine for the goddess she was, would not lay down and grovel at her feet the way he would. He could make her see that they belonged together, and if that meant he would need to steal away with her and keep her forever hidden in some underground bunker at his side, by god, he’d do it. Erik practically vibrated with nervous energy, as he raced along, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He vowed to look into buying one of those doomsday-prepper cargo containers one could bury in the backyard, he was fairly sure they could be bought online…

He was certain he could get her back


	3. Chapter 3

Out on the road today  
I saw a Deadhead sticker on a Cadillac  
A little voice inside my head said  
Don't look back, you can never look back  
I thought I knew what love was  
What did I know?  
Those days are gone forever  
I should just let 'em go

 

By the time he arrived on the outskirts of the campus town, his bravado had fled and his head was pounding. 

He had lost her. 

She had made her choice when she had left, and he had to respect that, respect her. He loved her too much to wish her anything but absolute happiness, and if the happiness she chose was a life without him, well, he could hardly blame her for that. 

He would cherish the two years of bliss she had given him, two years of feeling like a normal man, of loving and being loved in return. That Christine had finally come to her senses and realized that she deserved so much better than a taciturn, disfigured grump was not shocking. 

The only thing shocking about the situation was that it had taken her so long to see sense!

He would let her go. He would let her go and move on with his life, or at least what had passed for a life before her, and he wouldn’t look back. 

He’d work on his music, he’d write symphonies and funeral dirges, and never write anything that included a soprano voice line, lest he be forced to remember her.

“Heart, we will forget her, you and I tonight,” he thought to himself, remembering too late that he was paraphrasing one of her favorite poems, lancing himself anew. 

 

* * * * * 

 

The first order of business would be to clear out of the apartment they had shared. He wasn’t sure if she was even planning on returning. Perhaps she’d made plans to stay with her friend Meg until things were settled and he was gone. 

She had moved in with him shortly before the start of the new semester, a few weeks after his birthday surprise that first summer. She was already there most nights, but would still return to her shared campus apartment a few times a week. One night, she had come over after her choir rehearsal, as she usually did, but this night her jaw held a firm set, her walk a little more brisk than her custom. Erik noticed as soon as she came through the door that something was wrong.

“I need to move,” she had said flatly, pulling off her cardigan and throwing it violently at Erik’s small coat rack, where it promptly fell off, knocking his own blazer to the ground in the process. "The lease needs to be renewed before the semester starts, and I’m not signing it, so I need to find a place before then.”

“Okaaaay…” he started, cautiously stepping around her to pick up the offended garments and right them on the rack. “Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened, Erik” she had ground out through clenched teeth. “I just can’t stay there. I won’t stay there.” She had been resolute, her fists balled at her sides. He moved behind her, arms circling her waist, and she immediately melted into him.

“Did you have a fight with Meg?” he’d asked gently, leaning his unmasked face to drop a kiss on her head. Christine had let out a huge sigh, and dropped her head back on his chest. 

“No,” came her quiet reply. “Meg doesn’t know how to be anything but wonderful. But Cecile and Jamie are immature, superficial, hateful idiots,” she spit out, her voice steadily rising. “I’m sick of listening to the vileness that falls out their empty headed mouths, and I don’t want to be around them anymore. I will not stay there.”

A stone had settled in his stomach at her outburst. Christine may have been new to the harsh realities of people’s cruelty at that point, but he certainly had not been. “Christine, what did they sa-…”

She had whirled around in his arms, cutting him off. “Please don’t ask me, Erik” she’d begged him, and his stomach clenched to see the tears falling freely down her cheeks. Her knuckles had been white as she gripped fistfulls of his shirt, and his heart broke when she’d dropped her head to his chest and began to cry in earnest.

He hadn’t needed her to tell him that he was the reason she’d had a falling out with her roommates. He didn't need to hear what the two younger girls had said about him--it had all been said before. Christine didn't have the thick skin of a lifetime of whispers and jeers, and was still extremely reactive to the suspicion and rude comments that followed him. Conflict and strife followed wherever he went, and it pained him to know that his angel was suffering the collateral damage that came with having him in her life. He’d scooped her up and relocated them to the sofa as her tears subsided. 

“I’d get a place with Meg, but she can’t afford to not have roommates,” she’d said quietly, once her tears had dried. “I-I know it’s still early days, technically, and you can say no if you think it’s a bad idea...but I’m already here all the time, and I could help you with rent…”

“Christine, do you actually think I don’t want you to live with me?” he’d gaped at her incredulously. “Oh, my sweet, lovely, naive angel. I’d chain you to the bed and homeschool you if I thought I could get away with it!”

That had made her laugh, and instantly her mood brightened. “Oh Erik, I swear I’ll be the very bestest roommate ever!” she’d singsonged, throwing her arms around his neck. 

“Oh ho! Am I supposed to believe that you will miraculously start putting the lid on the peanut butter? Not likely, my dear” he said with a smile, kissing the tip of her upturned nose.

“THAT, good sir, was rude” she had sniffed imperiously. She kept her head lifted haughtily, but her hands had begun unbuttoning his shirt. He couldn’t help but chuckle as used the open sides to tug him closer..

“It WAS rude, forgive me. I’ll happily put the lid on the peanut butter a hundred times a day if my lady requests it, as I am naught but her willing slave…” His tone was joking, but he meant every word of it, of course. He’d pushed her back on the sofa and hooked his fingers under the waistband of her cotton shorts, drawing them down her hips. 

“Well then, slave...I command that you-ohhhhhhh…” she cut off on a moan when he pulled her legs open and dragged his tongue over her warm pink center. He took his time lapping and sucking on the little nub at the top of her delectable folds as she’d gripped his hair, until her whole body quivered with her climax. 

The sounds that issued from her golden throat had made him quite happy with his indentured servitude. 

That same evening he’d insisted on taking her back to her quad to clear out the few things she still had there. For the first time, he’d requested going up with her, and shouldered his way through the door, allowing his intimidating height to fill the small space. As Christine moved about the shared rooms, he leaned on the wall, alternating his glare between Cecile and Jamie, who were beside themselves to have the strange masked man in their living room. Meg had offered a sly smile and a “‘sup, Erik?” at his presence. 

Christine had positively beamed as she gathered up her things, gave Meg’s cat Leonard a fond kiss goodbye, and hugged Meg tightly before flouncing out the door, nose in the air as she passed the other two girls. “Bye, Meg!” Erik tossed cheerfully over his shoulder, glancing back to see her smirk and wave.

When they returned to the apartment, Christine had set to unpacking the few things she had collected. He watched her set a bottle of perfume on the dresser next to his watch and add the diamond studs from her Grandmother to the little bowl where he kept his cufflinks, and suddenly found it very hard to breathe. She turned to see him watching her, and smiling softly crossed to where he stood, wrapping her arms around his narrow waist. >“Welcome home,” he whispered into her hair, and she pulled his head down until she was able to meet his lips with her own. He vaguely heard the clatter the mask made after she pulled it from his face and tossed it somewhere behind him. The kiss deepened until she was pulling him back to the bed. 

Then they were frantically shedding clothing, gasping for breath as their mouths met again and again, until he was flat on his back, her legs splayed over his hips. She braced her hands on his chest as she moved on him, rolling her hips with a building intensity. His own hips raised to meet hers as he captured a rosy nipple in his mouth, making her throw her head back, blonde curls tumbling wildly around her. She was a goddess, he was sure of it. 

She rode him until they were both panting and groaning, desperate for release. He moved his hand between their bodies, and it only took a few circles of his thumb to make her tighten around him, dropping her head as she moaned out her pleasure. He thrusted through her climax until the rhythmic clenching of her tight, wet heat forced his own orgasm and he spent himself inside of her with a long groan.

She dropped forward onto his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her to him. They stayed pressed together, coming down from their highs until his softened member slipped from her, and she gave hive a languid kiss, arching her back like a contented cat. She hummed happily against his neck.

“I told you I’d be the bestest roommate.”

He laughed richly at her audacity, and tightened his hold on her. “You know I made you dinner like four hours ago, right?” he questioned.  
She slapped his chest playfully and sat up. “Now you tell me! I’m going to go clean up, and you’re going to make me a plate, slave.”

“As my mistress commands, “ he intoned formally, enjoying the view as she padded naked to the bathroom. 

A short while later, they were seated at the table, eating reheated lasagna. Christine had produced a notebook, and was trying to make an itemized list of the expenses she thinks they’ll need to share. 

“How much do you think I’ll need to put aside for the cable bill?” he asks, chewing musingly. 

“Nothing. You’re not paying any bills. Start saving for grad school” he replied, helping himself to more garlic bread. 

She gaped at him, and her eyes narrowed, creating an adorable furrow between her brows that Erik would have nuzzled if the table hadn’t been between them.

“Erik, I’m not letting you support me. I know a place this nice can’t be cheap.” She looked around suddenly. “Shit, maybe I should’ve asked what the rent was before I let you talk me into this,” she murmured thoughtfully, ducking easily when he threw his napkin at her.  
“Seriously though, I need to be able to help you. I can’t go off gallivanting with Meg with a clean conscious knowing you’re slaving away at a job you hate while paying for grad school.” 

“Christine, I don’t...actually pay for anything,” he started carefully, watching the furrow reappear between her brows. He sighed, knowing he should have addressed this earlier. “I had a pretty sizeable inheritance from my grandparents,” he went on slowly, not wanting to invite further conversation about the relatives that done little more than pay for him after their only daughter had abandoned her disfigured baby. Erik had been placed in the care of a kind great aunt who had never married but desperately wanted a child. When she died when Erik was only eight years old, he had been packed off to boarding school.

“I have a trust fund that was set up when I was just a kid. It pays for...well, just about everything. I’ve never had to dip into the main inheritance. Money isn’t a problem, Christine.”

Christine didn’t argue further, but seemed deep in thought the rest of the evening. They laid together in bed that night, her head pillowed on his shoulder, when she voiced the question that had sat heavily in her mouth since dinner.  
“Erik, can I ask you something? Will you promise not to be upset with me?” she asked very softly. The hand she had tucked under his t-shirt was moving in slow circles on his stomach. “If your family had money, why did they not...why didn’t you…”

He pulled her hand out from under his shirt and held it to his heart, his own massive hand spread over it. “I had four different surgeries, Christine,” he said quietly. “Bone grafts and skin grafts. My body rejected them. When the surgeon refused to operate again, my grandfather found one who would.”

Her hand broke free of his and moved to cup his left cheek, feeling the cratered, uneven surface as though for the first time. The surgeries hadn’t helped; if anything, he was even more monstrous when it was all over.

“Oh, my poor baby,” she whispered reaching to find his heartbeat again. She reached for the hem of his shirt and insistently pulled it up. “Off, I want this off” she’d insisted, and sat up to pull off her own tank top. She resettled against him, her bare breasts pressed to his own, her cheek pressed against his heartbeat. “I’ll fight anyone who ever tries to hurt you again,” she murmured sleepily.

He chuckled grimly. “That’d be a long line, my dear. I’m not sure if you have the form for that.”

“Yes I do. I’d fight the whole world for you” she’d said, right before she drifted to sleep against him, his heartbeat lulling her like the tide.

* * * * *

She’d infused his drab existence with splashes of canary yellow and bright cerulean; had placed her stamp on every room in the place. Suddenly there were brightly colored throw pillows and lap blankets on his dark gray furniture, twee drinking glasses in robin’s egg blue, a painting over the piano done in vibrant poppy red.  
Even if she was gone with no plans on returning, he thought, he’d still have to leave, he thought. He couldn’t bear to live with the ghost of her there. 

He was pulled out of his reverie when he nearly sideswiped a giant boat of a cadillac that was drifting over the lane. Erik was confident the old hippy behind the wheel would be telling the story of the masked maniac who had hurled obscenities at him over his dinner that night.  
The semester was starting in just a few days, so he’d need to settle himself into lodgings quickly. Erik hadn't yet decided if he'd even return to the school, especially after the blow up he'd had with Khan that last night. A hotel would probably be home for the interim, unless he showed up on Khan’s doorstep. 

Jesus, he’d have to explain things to Khan...They hadn’t parted on the best of terms the day Erik had left for the lake. The man was going to be crushed. He had been Christine’s biggest fan, and loved to pointing out not just that he was responsible for getting them together, but that Erik’s classroom evals had steadily improved since their relationship had started.

No matter. If Erik had to move on, so did Khan. He pulled into the apartment building’s lot and went in to gather what he would need to move into a hotel that night.

He had lost her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I had planned on this only being four chapters, I swear it! The song only has so many verses after all! But this last section turned out to be a long one, so I've decided to let the flashback stand on its own. For those who hoping to find out what happened...well, I promise there will be resolution!

They had argued about The Boy just a few weeks earlier. 

Erik supposed the fight wasn’t technically about him, not at a base level, but his squawking presence in Christine's life had certainly been the catalyst for their angry words and hurt feelings. 

He had come home from a rehearsal late one night to find Christine curled on the sofa, giggling on the phone. The university chamber orchestra was going to be performing one of his works at a fundraiser dinner for university donors at the start of the semester, and the woodwinds were having an extremely difficult time with it. 

The unproductive rehearsal had left him tense, with a headache brewing at the base of his skull, and he wanted to do nothing more than to sink into bed and have Christine work the knots out of his tight shoulders. Instead, he had heard her breathy laughter as his key turned in the lock, and as he moved to the kitchen to retrieve the Advil from the cabinet, she’d slipped silently out of the room. He had turned to see the bedroom door closing and her soft voice resuming from the other side.

His already foul mood soured a bit more. 

Christine was not usually one for idle chatter on the phone. She’d speak to her Aunt Val several times a month, assuring the woman that grad school was going well, and confirming that she was, in fact, still living in sin with “that man.” If Erik was in the room for an Aunt Val conversation, he’d be given the stinkeye, which Christine assured him was certainly not from her, but an extension of her aunt’s displeasure knowing her brother’s only daughter was “shacking up with an older man we've never met.”

He was a little afraid of Aunt Val.

She and Meg would call nightly to give each other a minute breakdown of their days, discussing important topics like that Remy guy from the theater management dept that Meg had been flirting with, to how much water they had consumed that day. It was truly riveting stuff. Erik would be solicited for opinions on everything from the wardrobe choices of the faculty to his thoughts on whether the box office manager had two wives, and the conversation would always end with “Erik, Meg says 'byeeeeee’!!”

Beyond those instances, Christine rarely chatted on the phone, often griping that she wished she could have a cell phone plan that didn’t include the “phone” part, and never found it helpful when Erik pointed out that she had both a tablet and a laptop.

For her to be giggling away now, at this hour, could only mean one thing. The Boy. 

Her friend from childhood, Raoul was the only one who called her this late, the only phone call that she actively tried to hide from him. The rational part of his brain, which was by far the smaller part, reasoned that the boy was far away, working on an MBA at an Ivey. Him calling Christine once or twice a month should have counted for little when Erik was the one who got to hold her in his arms every night. 

It counted for a lot in Erik’s head. For Raoul was not just someone Christine had grown up with, spending summers at the same lake resort town since they were practically toddlers. Christine and Raoul had history. 

She had confided that they had dated for a short time when they were teenagers, and Christine laughed it off as another fond memory, but Erik wasn’t so sure. 

“It was between our junior and senior years, which was a million years ago! And when he kissed me, it was like kissing my brother” she’d told him, a fond smile on her face. 

Erik didn’t think it was such a sweet reminiscence. He didn’t want to think of anyone kissing Christine, let alone the handsome heir to an old money fortune, and he shuddered to wonder at what else they had done together. He’d been very quiet when they went to bed that night, and she’d noticed.

“Erik, are you jealous?!” she’d laughed.

He hadn’t found it funny.

She’d climbed on top of him, straddling his thighs, and cupped his bare face in her hands. “Like kissing my brother, babe” she’d whispered, and brushed her lips against his slowly, sensually.

“Do you know what this is like?” He could only shake his head mutely, as her hand skimmed down his stomach and into his pajama bottoms, finding and gently kneading his sack.

“Not my brother.” And she lowered her head again, dipping her tongue into his mouth.

Erik was well aware that she’d had sexual partners before and had far more experience in relationships than him. (Which was a low bar to meet, admittedly, as he had no relationship experience before her.) His prior sexual encounters had all been impersonal; fast and fleeting, fueled by adrenaline and mindless lust, with no personal entanglements past the act itself. 

But she didn’t keep in touch with any of her ex-boyfriends or one-night stands, didn’t giggle on the phone with them, and certainly didn’t shut the door on him to speak to any of them in private. 

 

After a time, he heard the shower go on. She’d never come back out to greet him. Erik poured himself two fingers of scotch to chase his Advil, and called it a night. By the time she emerged from the bathroom, damp haired and smelling like lavender, he was already in bed, facing the wall.

“Hey babe,” she said quietly, slipping between the sheets. Erik ignored her.

She’d crawled to the center of the bed and slipped her soft, fragrant arm under his. “How was rehearsal?” she murmured, her delicate fingers rubbing small circles against his chest. He said nothing.

Her hand drifted up to stroke the skin at the base of his neck. “Tomorrow do you want to--”

“Christine, I'm very tired” he’d flatly cut her off.

“Oh,” came her soft reply and her arm retreated.

He felt her slowly move back to her side of the bed, and she didn't speak again. He remained facing the wall. It was the first time since she had moved in that they hadn't slept in a tangle of limbs, and the distance between them on the mattress seemed to stretch like an ocean.

The next morning, he made a point to slip soundlessly from the bed and be gone before she woke. The sight of her curled in on herself, looking so small under the covers, so different from the sprawled out way she normally slept made his throat close, but he still silently gathered a change of clothes up and got ready in the bathroom down the hall instead of the one they shared.

 

He had needed to come home mid-day to pick up some score notations he had left on the piano, to find her in her laundry day shorts and tank top, folding a pile of sundresses.

“Oh, thank goodness you're home! I have the BEST gossip about the managers from the theater, and I've had no one to tell all morning!”

He knew it was a peace offering, knew this was her way of mending fences and putting last night behind them. He wanted to indulge her, ask what had Moncharmin gotten into a tizzy over now, but he didn't. He still felt the sting of that door closing behind her too sharply to let go of his hurt feelings just yet.

“I rather doubt that,” he grumbled, moving to swiftly collect his notations and leave.

He saw, from the corner of his eye, her stiffen at his words, fists balled at her sides.

“You're being ridiculous, Erik. You know that right? You're overreacting and you need to calm down.”

He whirled on her at her frustrated words.

“Am I Christine? Am I truly? Please, let me know if that's the case, because it's so hard to discern how I should be feeling from the other side of a closed door.”

At that her face had grown red. “I only went to the bedroom because you get so upset when I talk to him” she ground out. “You get all crazy and irrational, just like you're being now!”

“And you just can't fathom why that is. Well by all means, don't feel like you have to hide anything, Christine! What's dear, sweet Raoul up to these days? Looking forward to introducing you to Miss Rhode Island? I'm sure he can't wait for the two of you to bond over girl time.” 

Her face was flaming then. “Actually, they broke up” she said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, well isn't that just so convenient. Such timing.”

“Erik, I don't see why you won't just come wi--”

“NO!” he roared in response, cutting her entreaty off. “And I don't understand what part of NO you're having such a hard time comprehending, Christine. It's only two letters after all.”

She’d recoiled as if he'd struck her. It was the first time he'd ever truly raised his voice to her, that they'd ever really fought. They’d had all of the minor arguments that all couples had, but they rarely stayed angry and they always made up quickly.

She turned away from him and faced the window, arms crossed tightly over her chest. He could tell from the way her shoulders shook that she was crying.

He knew that he should go to her, that he should take her in his arms and kiss away her tears. That he should beg for her forgiveness for being so irrationally jealous, for still being so insecure in her love.

But he was too angry. Too angry at her apparent refusal to understand why he had said no. Why it hurt him so much when she shut him out, when he so wanted to be able to say yes, to be at her side. She didn't understand, wouldn't understand.

He turned and walked out the door.

 

That evening's rehearsal went as badly as the night before. At nine o’clock he pulled out his cell phone to send her a message letting her know that he’d be late. His thumb hovered over her name in his text messages and he hesitated. He switched over to the browser and emailed her from his campus account. 

“Reworking the clarinet line, will be late.” It was short and impersonal. He didn't come home that night.

 

The next day he finally returned to the apartment mid-morning, feeling rumpled after a sleepless night spent hunched over the piano in his office. He thought she'd be out. Instead, he found several stacks of her clothes on the bed, and heard the shower running in their shared bathroom. Through the din of the water he could hear her sobbing. Her suitcase was pulled out of the closet, and rested next to the dresser they shared. He quickly changed his clothes, and beat a hasty retreat. He didn't want to face her. He wasn't sure if he was still mad, but he knew he didn't want to face her in that moment.

In a rare step of unusual clumsiness, his foot caught the piano bench as he moved quickly through the apartment, dragging it with a squeal. The water was already off and he heard the creak of the bathroom door opening quickly.  
She called out his name from inside the bedroom, as he regained his footing and wrenched open the front door.

“Erik!” He heard her voice break tearfully on his name a second time as the door closed behind him. 

When he returned that evening, she was gone.

 

The next twenty four hours were a blur of pain. Erik lashed out at anyone unlucky enough to cross his path. He was unsurprised to see an angry Khan storming into the orchestra’s rehearsal space the next evening.

“Erik! I don't know what bug is up your ass, but you do NOT get to take it out on colleagues, and you CERTAINLY don't get to take it out on students!” he shouted angrily.

“Well then maybe your students should pick other career paths,” Erk bit back viciously. “If your students didn't possess such fundamentally poor mastery of their instruments, we wouldn't still be trying to work out the same god damned phrase several days in!” He was breathing hard and dangerously close to losing control.

Khan pushed his fingers against his temples and closed his eyes. “Erik, you made a clarinetist cry, you told an oboist they should see if their credits would transfer to the department of waste management, and you thoroughly insulted Dr Reyer.”

He made a pleading gesture at the younger man. “Erik, you're faculty now. I need to hold you to the same standards of professionalism as every other professor here. It's almost like you don't want your compositions performed.”

Erik heard the threat for what it was. Pity that he cared so little at that point. Everything suddenly seemed extremely unimportant; the PhD he was working on, the eventual tenure he was promised. Why should he share his compositions with anyone at this god forsaken school? They didn’t like him, not the students, not the faculty; he was tolerated because of Khan, and even he acted as though Erik was a burden he was saddled with instead of a friend. Erik read the coded message behind Khan’s words loud and clear. The older man should have know that Erik had never responded to threats particularly well.

“You're right, Nadir. I don't.”

He turned his back on Khan's sputtering, scooped up the entire composition from where it rested until the next evening’s rehearsal, knocking over the music stand in the general direction of a giant rack of chimes, and let the door swing shut behind him. 

The late summer humidity caught in his lungs as he left the building, making quickly for the parking lot. He vaguely heard Khan’s voice shouting for him, but Erik never broke stride. He flung the armload of papers over his shoulder into the backseat; thinking he’d burn them later.

Burn it all down. What did it matter anymore?

His Christine was gone, and without her, he didn’t need this life anymore, didn’t need to play at being normal. He wanted to find someplace to hide, somewhere where he would never have to face the scrutiny of gawking strangers and judgmental peers. He never wanted his heart to feel ever again. But first he needed to see her one final time.

Bursting into the apartment in a wild fit of mania, Erik threw a hasty travel bag together, grabbed his laptop and charger and strode determinedly back to his car. A short drive later, he pulled onto the highway leading out of town. Lake Guirec was a three and a half hour drive, and she had nearly two days on him, but he could still see her, if only from afar. He’d go to the lake and find out where the Chagny’s house was. He wasn’t sure what he’d do once he got there, but he couldn’t live another day on this earth without seeing her again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: This was a story I never intended to write, certainly never intended to post, and absolutely never thought anyone would read. This was born out of frustration with writing something else, and the one-off chance of having this song become a persistent earworm one day. But! this was such a pleasant distraction from my other writing project that I can almost guarantee I’ll be visiting this Erik & Christine again. Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I can see you,  
Your brown skin shining in the sun  
You got that hair slicked back,  
And those Wayfarers on, baby  
And I can tell you my love for you will still be strong  
After the boys of summer have gone

 

The apartment was black. She wasn’t there. 

Not knowing what Christine was planning to do, he’d wanted to ensure he was safely ensconced in a hotel room by that night. He decided he could figure out what to do with the rest of his things at a later date, but the immediate priority was to clear out. 

He’d thought the time spent at the lake would have helped; that seeing her being happy without him would have made things better, easier to walk away. All it made him want to do was throw himself at her feet and beg her to never, ever make him leave her side. He wanted to grow old with her in his arms, wanted her with him always...

No, seeing her at the lake, living her life without him, had not helped the ache in his heart in the slightest.

 

He had only been back in the apartment for about 30 minutes when he heard a key turning in the lock. 

He had been stuffing his clothes into a garbage bag, but stood still as a statue as he heard a sunny voice sing out “Lucy, I’m hoooome!” 

He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. When he heard the unmistakable sounds of bags dropping to the floor, he woodenly moved out of the bedroom to see if he was actually hallucinating. 

“There you are! Mmmmm, I missed you so much!” she hummed happily, flinging her arms around him. 

Her slim arms felt like an iron vice and he struggled for breath as her face nuzzled his chest.

“I feel like I’ve been in the car for a hundred years! I want these pants off. OFF!” her hands tugging at the waist of his jeans.  
“We have a lot of lost time to make up for, and I don’t want to walk right for a week, understand? When I go into class, I want everyone to think I was at pony camp for the summer,” she grinned up at him cheekily.

It was only then that she realized he was clutching a garbage full of clothes and hadn’t yet said anything. She stepped back, narrowing her eyes in confusion. “Erik, what are you doing? What’s wrong? Please, please tell me we’re not still fighting, babe.”

He took a deep breath before testing his voice. “You-you came back. I wasn’t sure if you’d be back, and I wanted to be g--...” She pulled the bag from his hands and his voice trailed off. 

 

“We would have been back yesterday, but Meg wanted to stop and visit her mom, and--Erik, what the hell is this? What are you doing?” she questioned him again, pulling a handful of sweaters and button downs from the bag. “Of course I came back, I live here. Are you going to explain this to me?” she waved the fistful of clothing at him, signaling she actually expected him to speak again. 

He had stiffened at her words. “Of course, you...you live here. I wasn’t sure of your plans, and...ahem, I will be out within the hour. I will respect whatever decision you’ve made, Christine.”

 

She gaped at him. “WHAT THE FU--oh, for god’s sake! ERIK. I didn’t leave you. I was on vacation!”

His legs were suddenly not up to the task of holding him, and he unsteadily sank into the sofa. “You left Christine. What was I supposed to think?!” He buried his face in his hands and fervently wished he had bought two of the gas station energy drinks.

 

“What were you supposed to...We’ve been discussing this trip for well over a month, Erik! You knew where I was staying. Jesus, I’ve only been gone for two weeks! I asked you to come with me! Begged in fact!”

He stood then, desperately twisting his hands in supplication. “Christine, angel, after the way I acted I thought--”

 

“NO! I can’t even believe you! Erik, I was miserable without you, I missed you every day!” She threw the garbage bag at him and he let it bounce off his chest. “Did you even read your letter?!”

“My letter?” he asked dumbly, his head suddenly feeling heavy. She hadn’t left him. Nothing else mattered! She could whip him, beat him, make him beg at her feet for her forgiveness and it wouldn’t matter! She hadn’t left!

 

She covered her face with her hands and sighed. “C’mon. Sit,” she ordered. She sat on the sofa, and he gingerly perched on the edge of the far end. She sighed again, and shook her head. “Oh, Erik. C’mon, over here” she tugged on his shirt, drawing him down until his head was in her lap. She pulled off the mask and sunk her fingers into his dark hair, ignoring the little whimper he made. 

 

“What am I going to do with you?” she whispered running her nails lightly over his scalp. “Erik, we’ve been discussing this trip for almost two months. I begged you to come with me. I was disappointed when you said no, but I understand.” She held a finger to his lips, silencing him when he began to protest, and tenderly cupped his twisted cheek with her palm, making him shiver. “I understand, I truly do, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you, you stupid, stupid man.”

 

“I’m sorry we fought,” she said, softer now. “I’m sorry I pushed you to come, I’m sorry I made you feel like I was keeping things from you.” She touched him as she spoke, her fingers moving gently over his cheeks, tracing his lips, lightly caressing his throat.  
“I love you, babe, and I just wanted to spend the time away with you, but I should have respected your reasons for saying no in the first place.”

 

“Christine, if there’s anyone who should be apologizing, it’s me,” he sat up then, his brow furrowed. “What letter? When did you write me a letter?”

 

She smiled a bit sadly, and gave a sheepish little shrug. “While I was at the lake. I was...upset one evening, and I woke up the next morning missing you something fierce.” 

She pushed herself to her feet and surveyed the room. “God, I can’t believe you didn’t even read it! I poured my heart into that, mister! ...Look at this place. Erik, everything is covered in dust. Did you sleep in the tub or something the whole time I was gone?”

 

Shit. shitshitshit. 

 

She couldn’t know he’d spent the last two weeks stalking her like a deranged madman. She could NOT know. He had been honest about everything with her, told her about his childhood, showed her his face...surely he was allowed to let one little momentary twelve day lapse in judgement stay hidden?

“Why were you upset, Christine?” he asked, desperately casting for something to land on that would detract from the fact he had not, in fact, been in their apartment for the better part of two weeks. She was looking out the window and didn’t say anything for a moment, and when she began to speak she didn’t turn to look at him.

 

“Raoul, he’s like a brother to me, I’ve told you that. He’s always been protective, you know?” She turned then, the sad smile back on her face. “Meg had mentioned something about you one night, and Raoul...gave his opinion, that I didn’t ask for or appreciate.”

 

Giry. Erik had never liked Meg Giry. He should have known that she’d be behind anything negative that had been said about him. The meddling little vixen! He had never trusted her, she was never a very good friend to Christine... 

 

“What did he say?” Erik demanded.

Christine sucked in a breath between her teeth. “Like I said, Meg said...something about you, and Raoul and his brother started asking questions.” At this she smiled. “Phillippe thinks it’s serendipitous that I wound up with a composer who’s willing to write such beautiful things for my voice.”

“Pfff, like I would have a choice in the matter,” he scoffed. “You’re my muse, my angel.”  
She smiled softly and Erik’s pulse fluttered.

 

“Well, Raoul was less than impressed with us. He wanted to know ‘what kind of man lets his girlfriend go off alone on vacation for two weeks without wanting to come with her?’ He-he wondered if you’re good enough for me.” 

At this Erik snorted. “No, I’m not. That was never up for debate.” She scowled at him. “And let me guess? I suppose you jumped to my defense like the overprotective hellcat you are?”

 

This time Christine’s smile stretched brightly across her face. “Nope! I never got the chance. Meg tore him a new one.”

Giry. Erik had always liked Meg Giry. She was Christine’s most loyal friend, and had always been kind to him. She always made a point to joke with him when she saw him, nevermind that the jokes were occasionally at his expense. She was a lovely, sweet girl. Perhaps his next compositional project would be a ballet... 

 

“She told him she should be so lucky to find someone as devoted to her as you are to me, and then asked how many girls he had cycled through in two years. Ha, she wanted to know what had happened with Miss Rhode Island, and he got a little cagey. He shut up pretty fast after that!” she laughed. “So congrats, you have an adorable guard dog.”

“Too true,” he sniffed. “Well, if little Giry did such an adequate job defending my honor, why were you still upset?” He considered the possibility of driving to the popinjay’s Ivey campus and launching him off a belltower as Christine took a moment before answering.

 

She blew out a breath. “It just..it made me mad. All I had told them was that stuff had come up and you couldn’t make it. Raoul was willing to judge you without even knowing why you didn’t come with me. And that’s so unfair! And then the next morning…” she came back to the sofa and dropped down, pressing her cheek to his chest. 

“It was such a beautiful morning. The sky was all pinky-gold, and there were herons on the lake. And I wanted you to be there, to share that with you!” He felt dampness on his shirt and heard her breath hitch. “And it just makes me so mad that you felt you couldn’t share that with me, Erik. But I understand, and I don’t blame you. You were just thinking of me, you didn’t want to ruin my trip because you thought people would treat you badly. It’s just...so unfair. And I missed you and I was sad,” she finished on a great shuddering breath. 

“You know, I said all of this in my letter, you asshole,” she huffed out a teary laugh.

 

The letter he had watched her write that morning at the cafe, the very first week. She had been crying, crying over him. When she should have been having fun, having a carefree holiday. He swallowed thickly.

 

“Christine, angel...I’m so sorry.” He help up a shaking hand when she began to speak, her eyes still shining with tears. “The way I acted before you left was terrible. I wasn’t fair to you and I’m sorry,” his voice broke over his words as he continued. “I’m sorry you spent time crying over me, darling girl”, he whispered, curling a blond spiral around an unsteady finger. He steadied himself and continued.

“But...as usual, my love, you give me far too much credit. I didn’t want to go with you because I didn’t want you to see me next to your friends. I thought you’d realize how poorly I measure up.” The angry little furrow appeared between her browns, and he kissed it with trembling lips. “You're right, I didn’t want to face the crowds, but not because I was worried about what they’d think of me. There’s nothing that hasn’t already been done a dozen times over, no jeer I haven’t heard, Christine.” He took a breath and continued haltingly. “I didn't want to see the look on people’s faces when they saw you with me and watch them wonder what a beautiful woman like you is doing with-”

“Erik, stop” she pleaded, but he pressed on.

“I see it in people’s eyes everywhere we go, Christine, don’t you understand? They wonder and then they judge. They judge you. Is she a prostitute? A gold digger? It’s bad enough here, and people know us. I couldn't go to someplace where you have happy memories and ruin things...that’s what I can’t bear, my love. I can’t bear people thinking less of you because of me.”

 

She stretched up and pressed her lips to the spot where his pulse thrummed erratically in his throat, then pressed her forehead to his chest, as tears ran freely down her face. His arms went around her, and for a moment they said nothing. The weight of his admission sent a tremor up her spine. 

 

“Erik, she began steadily, after several moments of silence had passed, “I don’t care what people say or think. I’d rather people think I’m a gold digger than be without you like I was this week. I’d rather be your whore than another man’s wife,” he sucked in a breath and she held his eye, her hands splayed across his bony clavicle, 

“and I-I’m sorry I pushed you. But I was miserable this week. I had fun with my friends, I did, and I’m glad I got to see the guys. I do have wonderful memories of that place. But I wanted to be there with you. And I don’t care about what anyone else thinks, not Raoul, or anyone. I want to be with you. And I need you to believe that, or else we’re never going to get past this. I want us to be able to go places and do things like any other couple, because we are like any other couple. And I don’t want to have the same fight next summer, and the summer after that.” 

His heart quivered at her mention of a future that still included him. She wanted him. Nothing else mattered.

 

He kissed her then, kissed her hard, with every bit of longing that had built in his body over the past two weeks. She gasped against his mouth and fisted his shirt in her hands. “Pants. Off.” she bit out, as he picked her up and swiftly moved to the bedroom. 

How had he wound up with this glorious, wonderful, accepting angel? He would spend the rest of his life trying to be worthy of her, he was sure, if she allowed him to be there at her side, but now--now he just needed to touch her, to have her.

 

Their mouths met in a frenzy of teeth and tongue. Erik had imagined their reunion countless times over the past two weeks, in the moments when he was confident in his ability to win her back to his side, when he’d still believed he needed to win her back.

He had imagined soft lovemaking, where he would hold Christine tenderly and whisper gentle words of love. Her soft, breathy sighs would be a harmonious counterpoint to his passionate endearments, until they crescendoed in a golden haze of peaceful bliss. 

 

Those daydreams were nothing like this--this was animal heat and frenzy, a crazed drive to possess, to consume one another.

 

The outside world with its judgemental eyes and hard conversations ceased to exist as they shucked clothes, their lips parting and returning with a savage intensity. He gripped her hips in a crush of hands, hard enough to leave a mark, and sucked a bruise on to her collarbone. 

He should be gentler, a small corner of his mind screamed, should take his time with her, savour this moment of sweet reunion...but his questing fingers found her slick and ready for him and the guttural moan she let out at his touch convinced him he was not alone in wanting it like this. She was stroking him, hard, the way he liked, with an almost painful twist and drag over his sensitive head. He knew he wouldn’t last long, not with the way she was wringing the pleasure from his body. He needed to have her before he went mad.

Pushing her down to the bed, he pulled her legs around him and drove into her in a single, urgent thrust. She threw her head back and her back arched beneath him. He raised himself slightly to take in her form, and the sight of her tan lines sent Erik’s brain into a frenzy. Golden brown skin ended in wide white triangles; rosy pink nipples surrounded by creamy skin that was for him, only for him. “Oh god, Erik,” she gasped, as he hooked her leg over his shoulder and began pumping into her.

 

He set a furious, driving pace, taking her roughly, but she moved her hips against him, teeth dragging over his collarbone, a hand fisting in his hair. He moved his own hand down between their bodies to rub at her heat, in small, tight circles; exactly the way he knew pleased her most, and the fingers in his hair clutched convulsively. The rough friction of his snapping hips and insistent fingers quickly had her shaking and crying out his name, raking his back with her nails as she climaxed. She breathed out against his heated skin, in time with her movements as her body pulsed around him, a word he could only just make out.

“Mine, mine…”

As he pistoned into her with increasingly erratic thrusts, he couldn’t quite remember why they had argued so many weeks ago in the first place. The last conscious thought he had before blinding white euphoria seized his brain and he spent himself inside her was that he was hers.

Once enough oxygen had returned to his brain to allow him to move, he rolled off of her, head reeling. Christine immediately tucked into his side, resting her riot of blonde curls on his chest. Her hair spread like a golden gossamer curtain over his shoulder, he bent his head to take in a deep lungful of her sent. Sweat and sex, coconut lotion and her lavender shampoo. Her nails traced light patterns on his chest and she sighed contentedly.

“See, that was the the homecoming I was expecting,” she scolded him. He couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up from his chest. 

“You're right, let's start over,” he agreed, pulling her tighter, spreading a hand over her delectable backside. “Welcome home, baby. How was your trip?”

“You're such an ass,” she grumbled, swatting him lightly. “For your information, it was really nice. I didn't spend all my time pining for you, you know .“

No, she hadn't. He had seen that with his own eyes, and was glad for it. He wasn't worthy of a single one of her tears, and god knows he had been responsible for enough of them the past month.

“Meg was really glad she got to come as my plus one, but I think she was legitimately disappointed you weren't going to be there. She thinks you're hilarious. Phil's girlfriend wasn't able to get the time off work, so it wound up being just the four of us.”

“I'd like to point out that Ms Giry thinks I'm hilarious only because she makes fun of me constantly,” Erik added drily. “It’s actually her own humor she’s appreciating.”

“Oh, she does not. She playfully ribs you, that's all,” Christine said with a laugh. “That night Phil was asking questions about you, she told Phil you're a snarky asshole and you crack her up. Phil said he like you already.” She stretched languidly, popping something in her back.

“Meg really does like you, you know. We should do more with her. Oooo, we can be her wingmen with Remy!”

Erik settled back deeper in his pillows and considered what kind of ballet Meg would most appreciate. 

“So it sounds like the popinjay was the only one who didn't miss me,” he sniffed.

Christine groaned and shook her head reproachfully. They laid in comfortable silence, and she lowered her hand to stroke slow circles against his stomach.

“You were right about him, you know,” she said suddenly, soberly. “Raoul asked me if I was really serious about you. I told him I was, that you were the only one I wanted.” He heard the smile in her voice, but kept his eyes trained on the ceiling as she continued.

“He-he seemed upset by that, at first. He kept getting annoyed that I would go off by myself to be sad. We got the impression he had sort of spontaneously broken things off with Miss Rhode Island, when Meg was needling him about it. I...I think you might have been a little right about his intentions for the weekend after I told them you weren’t coming with me.”

Erik focused on his breathing. In and out. In and out. Calm and steady. He was not about to let thoughts of the popinjay intrude on his happy reunion, he decided. He could always send him a letter bomb, or make good on his dismemberment research.

“But he came around, Erik! He told me the last day that if I’m truly happy, he’s happy for me, and wishes us the best,” she finished triumphantly.

His sweet, naive love. The boy would always be a thorn in his side, Erik was certain of it. But he would not worry about it now, not when she had come back to him.

“Babe?” she asked him at length. “Would you do something for me?”

“Anything, angel” he murmured complaisantly, nuzzling her hair. A pleasant sleepiness was enveloping him, even as the soft hand that rubbed his stomach slipped slightly lower, causing warmth to pool beneath his navel. He'd go to the ends of the Earth for her, would slay dragons and popinjays alike. He would follow his sweet Eurydice to the deepest pit of Tartarus, and would never leave her behind.

“Will you go make me a grilled cheese? I'm starving.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A short while later, Christine sat in the kitchen in her pajamas, happily munching on her grilled cheese. 

Erik had improvised using thick slices of challah from the freezer, having discreetly disposed of the molded over loaf from the counter. He made a mental note that a grocery run needed to be on tomorrow's agenda, after two weeks of being absent.

“What?!” she'd demanded defensively when he'd smirked at her wardrobe choice. 

“It's still daylight, love” he’d pointed out with a smile.

“So? We're not going anywhere, are we? All I want to do tonight is snuggle, and I don't need a ball gown for that.”

He'd had to laugh at her defiance. When she was done eating, they’d sunk down on the sofa together, her across his lap, leaning against him happily. 

She chattered about her trip, telling him about the herons and the family of ducks she had fed; the necklace she wished she had bought in the little jewelry shop in town, and stories about Phillipe, the popinjay’s older brother.

“I was thinking, Erik...maybe we could go back? She lifted her head, looking up at him hopefully.“Meg...I think she said something to Phillippe. Right before we left, he pulled me aside and said he understands you...aren’t comfortable in big crowds. He said we could use the house anytime we want. He’s...he’s looking forward to meeting you. Said it would be nice to have another intellectual around for a change,” she huffed a little laugh at that.

“We get that long weekend in the fall...it would be so pretty with the leaves changing, babe. I have so many wonderful memories of being there with dad growing up, and I want to make new memories with you. Please say you’ll think about it.”

Erik sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Ahem. We can go to the lake anytime you want, Christine. And...and we don’t need to stay at the Chagny’s house.”

Her brow furrowed. “I don’t...what do you mean? Would you want to stay in town? Oh, there’s a really cute little B&B there! Would--would you be more comfortable there?”

“No, Christine.” Erik kept his gaze fixed on the floor in front of him, his hands clenched over her knees. “We can stay at...your...beach house. On the lake. There was one for sale, and..I bought it. For you! I bought it for you.” It’s just a white lie, completely harmless. She doesn’t need to know why you did it, he told himself.

He dared to look over at her, to find her mouth hanging open in shock. “It’s not finalized yet, though! The sale hasn’t closed, but it was a foreclosure and the bank was motivated to unload it quickly, so…”

Motivated was an understatement. The agent representing the bank had been overjoyed to find a buyer for the house who was willing to pay the asking price, sight unseen. Well, that they thought. Erik had made the initial phone call from the very balcony of the house he was intent on purchasing, after all. 

It had happened during the first week. He had been watched her laying out on the sand with Meg, and at one point she had rolled onto her stomach, untying her bikini top. She had looked especially luscious that morning as she browsed a small bookstore wearing a short blue sundress that showed off her tanned legs and soft cleavage. When she'd untied her top, that afternoon, Erik had gone dizzy with a desire for her that left him throbbing. Recalling his thoughts from that first afternoon about using the house as a means to keep her in his life, if only from afar, he'd called the agent’s number that same day in a lust-fueled bout of mania. 

They sat there in silence for what Erik was sure was several lifetimes. “Please say something, Christine,” he choked out. “Like I said, it’s not finalized. If I’ve overstepped, we can still back out”. Oh, you are going straight to hell. No sightseeing on the way, no purgatory for you. Straight there!

“You--Erik, you bought me a lake house?! But...but, how?!”

He shrugged uncomfortably. “I cashed in a few stocks. It was all handled through my market account manager. It’s really no big deal, I didn’t touch a penny from the trust.” She huffed at that. “No big deal?! Erik, those are milllion dollar homes! It is certainly a big deal!”

“No, it’s not,” he snapped. “Christine, my mother abandoned me. My grandparents shuffled me from one place to the next until they died. The only thing my family did for me was to leave me an inheritance. If I can’t spend it on the woman I love more than anything in this world, the woman I want to marry, to spend the rest of my life with, what the hell am I supposed to do with it?”

Christine had pressed her hand over her mouth and he closed his eyes, annoyed with himself over his outburst. Dammit. He meant it obviously, every word. But this certainly wasn’t how he wanted to tell her, how he wanted to ask her. He knew that he had wanted to ask Christine to marry him since practically that first day in his old broom closet office, but she deserved a grand romantic gesture, not an angry outburst rooted in his dishonesty.

“Erik, do you mean that? Truly? She murmured, her voice thick with tears. 

“Of course I do. How could you think otherwise?” He hated how shaky his voice sounded, but then it didn’t matter, because she was throwing her arms around him, kissing him, and then he was holding her against him, and the whole world fell away. 

“I love you, I love you, you stupid fool of a man. I want to marry you too! We can get married at the lake! We can have something small and private, just Aunt Val, and Meg and her mother... Oh! And Nadir, of course!”

“Of course” he said with outward aplomb, but a frisson of panic ran through him.

Khan. Shit.

Erik wasn't sure if he even had a job to return to once classes resumed. He wasn't tenured, getting rid of him would be easy at that point. Suddenly not working at the university was not something he could hide from her. He would fix this, had to fix this. He would go to Nadir’s office in the morning, hat in hand, and eat crow for all he was worth. He’d send an apology letter to Dr. Reyer with a nice scotch. He’d go back to teaching the non-majors if he had to. He could fix this.

He decided not to worry about Khan and the fallout from his tantrum until morning. Tonight was about Christine. 

“Christine? What was it that Meg said that made your popinjays start questioning my worthiness in the first place?” He did not miss the way she blushed and lowered her eyes. “Christine…?”

“It was nothing! It was...Meg was just being stupid..”

“Christine.”

She huffed indignantly. “Fine. Meg said she was kind of glad you had decided not to come. That if she had to, and I quote, listen to us ‘fucking like rabbits in the next room for two weeks’, she’d never be able to look you in the eye this semester. She’s taking your Music Lit class.” Erik groaned and his shoulders shook in laughter. “Oh, Ms Giry,” he laughed, growing ever fonder of the little dancer.

 

He wrapped Christine in his arms and pulled her tightly against him as she hummed in satisfaction. He looked down at her, her eyes closed and a little smile on her face, and his lips quirked up.

“Did we just propose to each other? This was terrible. If we were on one of those best wedding story shows, we’d lose, babe.”

She giggled at his use of her pet name for him. “I don’t need a stupid show. I just need you,” she answered, pressing a kiss to his throat. “Now take me to bed, slave.” 

He was only too happy to comply. She was home and she was his, her summer boys be damned. His heart was so full, so happy, he thought he might die from it. Two weeks of agony over nothing! Christine never need know how he had temporarily lost his mind in grief, and besides, it didn’t matter now. He scooped her up in his arms, bride-style, and carried her to the bed--their bed-- where he planned on them staying for a good, long while.

 

“Erik? Where did you get this dumb hat?” 

Shit.


End file.
